rk antecedent;' and
this I suspect to be his case.

"I have well wearied you, my dear friend, and yet have I not
told you half of what I feel on this strange matter. I am
little given to tremble at shadows, and still there are
terrors over me that I cannot shake off. Write to me, then,
at once; tell me all that you see, all that you can hear.
Observe well the localities; it will be curious if the boy
be correct. Mark particularly if there be a spot of rising
ground from which the garden is visible, and the windows
that look into it, and see if there be a door out of the
garden at this point. I could almost map out the scene
from his description.

"I have done, and now, I scarcely know whether I should feel
more relief of heart to know that all this youth has said
were fever wanderings, or words of solemn meaning. It is
strange how tranquilly I can move through the great events
of life, and yet how much a thing like this can shake my
nerve; but I suppose it is ever so, and that we are great or
little as the occasion makes us.

"I have just heard that Lady Hester Onslow has gone over to
Ireland. She will probably be at Corrig-O'Neal. If so, you
can present yourself to her as my old and intimate friend,
and this will afford you an opportunity of examining the
scene at leisure. I enclose you a few lines to serve as an
introduction. Adieu, my dear friend.

"You have often sighed over the obscurity of your position,
and the unambitious life of a parish priest. Believe me, and
from my heart I say it, I would willingly exchange all the
rewards I have won, all that I could ever hope to win, for
one week--one short week--of such calm quiet as breathes
under the thatched roof of your little cottage.

"I leave this for Vienna to-morrow, to thank the minister;
and with good reason, too, since without his assistance the
Pope would have shrunk from the bold policy. Thence I go to
Rome; but within a fortnight I shall be back in Florence,
where I hope to hear from you. If all goes well, we shall
meet soon.--Yours, in much affection,

Mathew D'Esmonde."

As the Abbe finished this letter, he turned to look at a short note,
which, having opened and scanned over, he had thrown on the table beside
him. It was from Albert Jekyl, who wrote to